


deflect and absorb

by goddesspharo



Category: Jurassic Park (Movies), Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: F/M, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 13:45:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4182090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddesspharo/pseuds/goddesspharo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know me: act first, think later."</p><p>
  <i>It's not like he expected them to hop off that island and go at it like unsupervised teens at summer camp, but at this rate, they're a board game and bingo night away from becoming his grandparents.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	deflect and absorb

"You must be the dumbest person in the world."

Owen rolls his eyes because of course this is the type of thanks he would get for defending Claire's honor against some idiot blogger with a thirst for sensationalism. Not a _thanks_ ; just _thanks for being stupid, stupid_. In a way, it's unsurprising but he also can't ignore that when he comes back to the apartment pinching the bridge of his nose and staring up at the ceiling, he finds Claire sitting on the kitchen counter with two ice-heavy tumblers of scotch and a first aid kit already open next to her.

"Some people would call it chivalry," Owen defends as he sits down on the bar stool in front of her. His nose is no longer gushing and he isn't howling in unbearable pain when he tentatively pushes on it so all in all he thinks he did pretty well for himself.

"Those people are idiots too," Claire shoots back with a put-upon sigh before setting her bare foot on his thigh to keep him in place. She tilts his chin this way and that to survey the damage.

Owen knows where he _wants_ to put his hands – against her cheeks, in her hair, between her legs, all over body – but he's not sure where he's _supposed_ to put them while he's holding down the sort-of-friend/sort-of-roommate card so he just slaps his palms on the counter so they're bracketing her instead. Claire swipes at the cut above Owen's right eyebrow, first with gauze and then with more rubbing alcohol than Owen thinks is necessary so that when he winces, Claire tells him unsympathetically to stop being a goddamn baby.

"Now instead of talking about clean up at tomorrow's press conference," Claire starts, "I'm going to spend the entire morning fielding a bunch of questions about why you felt the need to punch a reporter."

"TMZ doesn't count as reporting. That dude was a total dick. Also: you're welcome," Owen replies cheekily, knowing from all the times she has practiced her speech in front of him that the master clean up plan basically amounts to hoping for the best.

She tells him that they're _all_ dicks, but he doesn't see her going around breaking noses.

" _Easy_ , Captain Hook!" he yelps when Claire presses the steristrip over the cut a little too forcefully.

She swallows down a smile before asking, "What were you thinking?"

Anyone in his position would have done the same thing. It's one thing to question the facts, but it's another thing entirely to insinuate that the very obvious black and white photographic evidence showing Claire saving everyone on that damn island is an elaborate photoshop experiment perpetuated by Masrani International to fleece the unsuspecting public. So, naturally, Owen punched that Fox Mulder impersonator in the face and nearly pushed his camera guy into traffic for being stupid enough to work for such a dirtbag.

"You know me: act first, think later."

Owen grimaces as she jabs at the spot again, this time more out of spite than anything else. As he captures her wrist, Claire's pulse quickens until it's hammering against the pad of his thumb. He knows that this is the perfect time to make his move. They've been dancing around this thing for the past two weeks because it turns out that it's a hell of a lot harder to kiss someone when it is clear that they have to live with the repercussions of it afterwards. It's not like he expected them to hop off that island and go at it like unsupervised teens at summer camp, but at this rate, they're a board game and bingo night away from becoming his grandparents. Owen would give anything for some death-defying pterosaur action right now, which is a little terrifying and a lot sad when considering that he still has the raw marks on his back from the last time.

The moment stretches between them until it starts to get weird and Owen feels his fingers get sweaty. The secondhand of the clock in the living room behind her gets so impossibly loud that Owen wonders if he'll be able to sleep on that couch tonight. Maybe it'll slowly drive him crazy like it's his own tell-tale heart and then he won't have to worry about being the stupidest son of a bitch in California.

Claire clears her throat. Owen drops her hand like it's a bomb, quickly grabbing for the booze next to her. She looks like she's a little disappointed, but he could just be reading the room with his dick.

"To the court of YouTube," he says suddenly, raising his glass in a toast.

"May you become a meme tomorrow morning."

 

-

 

InGen offers him the unique opportunity to return to the island which sounds a lot like the unique opportunity to serve himself up as a Happy Meal for an intensely carnivorous Tyrannosaurus Rex. Owen can think of a million different ways he'd rather repent for his survivor's guilt, including but not limited to attending a slam poetry reading of _Fifty Shades of Grey_ and becoming a Fox News correspondent.

Owen gives the proposal its due consideration which is to say that he tells the InGen supervisor that it's a hard pass about four seconds after he finishes saying Isla Nublar. The guy seems to have expected this because he doesn't so much as bat an eyelash when he continues to play stupid: "We simply thought you would appreciate the chance to find out if the raptor – _Blue_ , is it? – is doing okay."

Claire's eyes flicker towards him and, yeah, that's a pretty low blow, but Owen isn't a sucker. The only thing that lets him sleep at night is the knowledge that he taught his girls to survive. Strolling back onto that island with a death wish isn't going to do anything to help her.

"Do I look like a momager to you? I know when to cut the cord."

"Tell me, Mr. Grady, what is a pack animal without her pack?"

Owen clenches and unclenches his fists underneath the table. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second and tries to imagine something calming like the beach or a nice sea breeze, but all he can hear is the blood in his ears and the _click-click_ ing of the InGen prick's pen as he waits impatiently for an answer. When Owen feels Claire's hand touch his under the table, he slowly counts to three and relaxes his fingers one at a time.

"So what's the offer here? I bring Blue back with me and teach her stupid human tricks? Maybe get her a sweet deal at the San Diego Zoo?"

"Of course not," the man bristles. "The velociraptors are property of—"

"I think she'll do just fine on her own," Owen insists, more for his benefit than anyone else's. "But hey, if you're stupid enough to send people back there again, at least she'll eat well for a few days."

"So your answer is a no?" the bag of dicks seated across from him asks, flipping open his notebook to presumably cross Owen off of a death list.

"Let me be very clear when I say that my answer is _go fuck yourself_."

 

-

 

Claire's nephews bequeath their old Xbox to him after their parents get them an upgrade so Owen fills up his daytime hours playing video games, going to the apartment complex's private gym, watching _Real Housewives_ marathons on Bravo, and jerking off in the shower after Claire washes her hair with that surf foam shampoo she had rush delivered from the Bumble and Bumble website the moment they landed on the west coast. His dick now has a Pavlovian response to that goddamn scent so whenever she gets tired of letting him live on her couch, he's going to have to order it by the crate for the sake of his boner.

In between all the masturbation and _Grand Theft Auto_ , Owen makes a concerted effort to ignore calls from companies looking to hire him as an animal trainer and interview request emails from the media asking to hear his side of the Jurassic World story.

One day, Claire comes home to find him up to hour four of the ten hour _He-Man_ "What's Going On" video loop on YouTube and tells him that he _really_ needs to find a job.

"Masrani is looking to hire some consultants to discuss dinosaur behaviorology."

"So they can refine their mad scientist ways? No offense, Claire, but I think I'll stick to hanging out with my boy Prince Adam at Castle Grayskull."

"At least get some better hobbies," she suggests as his laptop speakers blast out _hey yeah_ for the sixth time since she's been standing there.

 

-

 

They go to Starbucks on Sunday mornings on the way home from their weekly jog. Owen always orders the same thing – iced Americano, black – and then sprinkles in like fifteen packets of Splenda. In a sea of triple half-caf lattes and no-whip java chip frappuccinos, it's not the hardest order to remember so he doesn't think much of it when their usual barista, a perky blonde named Nicole, calls it out the moment they walk in one weekend.

"You should ask her out," Claire whispers out of the corner of her mouth while they're waiting on her Very Berry Hibiscus Refresher.

"Excuse me?" Owen sputters, nearly choking on the stirrer clenched between his teeth.

"She obviously likes you," Claire continues, motioning to his drink like it would take a rocket scientist to figure out, "and maybe getting laid will help with your anger management issues."

Owen feels like this is some sort of lucid nightmare and at any moment Ashton Kutcher is going to pop up from behind the counter like a jackass-in-the-box and tell them that the Steve Jobs thing didn't pan out so now he's bringing _Punk'd_ back. It's literally the only thing keeping Owen's rapid onset migraine at bay right now because the other option, the one where he's been a pussy for so long that he and Claire have now bro-ed out to such a degree that she is playing his wingwoman, is too unbearable to be reality. He feels like he's on the world's worst dodgeball team and just got sucker punched in the nuts.

"She's not my type," Owen manages to say, proud of himself for not sounding like he is having the heart attack that he is so clearly having right now.

"What's your type?"

"Chesty-er," he lies immediately, not even sure if that's a word. It's the first thing that comes to his mind that isn't _funny enough, Claire, you're my type so let's go home and work on channeling that aggression, shall we?_

Nicole hands Claire her very pink drink and smiles at him one more time before going back to the cash register. Owen thinks he might throw up at Claire's knowing grin.

 

-

 

Owen might look like a dumb jock, but he's no moron. He gets that camping out on Claire's couch like some aimless squatter who once had an endless supply of board shorts doesn't exactly make him the greatest catch of all time, but these are problems that can be easily remedied if he puts his mind to it. So a week after Claire tries to pimp him out to the coffee girl, Owen signs on to work at Dr. Alan Grant's lab as a consultant. He gets a dozen other job offers with far better pay, but Grant is the only guy who hates the amusement park more than Owen does. And who can blame the guy? Running for your life once is bad enough but to do have to do it twice in less than ten years on two separate islands because people don't understand that history repeats itself would make anyone a little bitter.

Whereas Masrani wanted to use Owen's knowledge to bring back to life even deadlier versions of animals that should have stayed extinct in the first place, Alan's interest is more academic, a way to bridge the gaps between fossils, his brief experiences with almost getting killed, and Owen's observations while training the velociraptors to form a cohesive picture of the animal without playing Frankenstein. That's what Owen tells Claire anyway when he announces the good news over a bottle of top-shelf whiskey that he's not sure he can afford yet. The truth is that, eventually, Alan might want Owen to give some sort of didactic lectures to his students but for now he's fine with shooting the shit about dinosaurs over beer and subs for a couple of days each week.

Sometimes Owen feels that it's a little like therapy. If there's anyone who can understand not being able to sleep because he's dreaming about winged beasts eating the people around him, it's Alan Grant. When he tells Owen that it gets easier eventually, it doesn't feel like a platitude because the proof is in the proverbial pudding. After all, Alan doesn't look like he's a loosely pinned grenade. Sure, the guy seems a little lonely and when he talks about his paleobotanist friend, Alan pines so hard that Owen feels like he's in a forest, but in the grand scheme of how fucked up a person can be after having to dive into dinosaur shit to throw off a T. Rex's sense of smell, Alan Grant is doing all right.

 

-

 

Technically, Owen is back on his feet now so he offers to move out and return custody of her sofa to Claire but she insists on vetting his Craigslist finds in the name of survival.

"How unfortunate would it be if you survived the Indominus Rex only to die at the hands of your psychotic bunny boiling roommate?"

She nixes the entrepreneur looking to go halfsies on a two bedroom ("His username is _phatcat69_ ; the only small business he's involved in is amateur porn"), the elderly woman renting out the second floor of her townhouse ("You're going to be weeding her lawn for glasses of sour lemonade for the rest of your natural born life"), and the family offering up their fully furnished basement ("Haven't you ever seen those 1-800-LAWYERS commercials about getting mesothelioma from asbestos? Jesus, Owen, do you even have medical coverage?") so short of hiring a real estate agent that he doesn't want to deal with, the apartment hunt reaches a standstill.

 

-

 

"Is she seeing someone else?" Barry asks after they finish playing a pickup game of basketball at the park.

Unlike Owen, Barry agreed to stay on with Masrani International on a purely fact checking basis to help fashion the story for litigation purposes. Being a cog in the corporate wheel must've slowly been killing Barry's soul because he brought Lowery, the computer guy who opened the paddock doors for Claire, with him to the game since he was the only guy at work that Barry didn't want to murder. Lowery got fouled by a teenager in the first minute of the game, plead a sprained ankle, and spent the rest of the game backseat driving from the benches.

"I don't think so," Owen answers now as Lowery tosses them bottles of Gatorade. "She's at work all the time."

"Are you talking about Claire?" Lowery asks, mopping up the nonexistent sweat from his forehead with the edge of his t-shirt.

"Yes. See, Owen is too chicken to ask the woman he is living with to go to the movies," Barry clarifies like the traitorous bastard that he is. Owen glares at his former friend.

"Just because she's at work all the time doesn't mean she's not seeing someone," Lowery offers.

"There are way too many negatives in that sentence," Owen says, scratching his head as he tries to do the math.

"She put in hundred-hour work weeks on the regular at the park and still managed to get engaged to some douchebag in a suit for a hot minute a few years ago." Off Owen's stunned silence, Lowery continues, "Investment banker from New York. Six figure salary. Flawless teeth. You know the type."

Owen decidedly did _not_ know the type. There weren't a lot of investment bankers in the navy.

"So what happened?"

"They broke up," Lowery says obviously, looking at Owen like he's been huffing paint fumes.

"There you go," Barry says quickly, clapping Owen's back. "Water under the bridge."

"But _why_?"

"Probably threatened by her professionally. She wasn't really into him anyway," Lowery shrugs. "You know Claire. She's kind of a lone wolf."

Barry looks at Lowery like he is reconsidering his non-murderous stance from earlier.

 

-

 

A few days after the conversation at the park, Owen decides that he's going to be a man about it, bite the bullet, and just ask Claire out. He has stared down raptors for fuck's sake. It can't be that hard to make some dinner plans. He doesn't want to make a big deal about asking her to go on a date with him, but he would definitely be lying if he said he didn't put on a shirt with buttons and wear actual pants in anticipation of the conversation.

What Owen fails to remember until Claire comes home early is that tonight is when her interview with Diane Sawyer is scheduled to air so the wine that he was letting breathe becomes something to get drunk off of while she is sprawled over one side of the couch watching ABC promote the hell out of their exclusive coverage.

"Did you cry?" he asks. "Diane makes everyone cry."

"That's Barbara," Claire corrects, taking a large gulp of wine. "Diane just squints at everyone like she's trying to peer into their souls."

"Slow down, tiger," Owen says. He has no idea why she's nervous. Claire has told the same story a million times over in a million different conferences by now. She could probably tell it in her sleep if she wanted. The only real difference between that and this is that she had to fill up the other half hour with idle chitchat.

"They're going to talk about Simon," she says with a disapproving frown as the segment starts with footage about the Masrani Corporation's mission statement.

Owen watches as she adorably chews on her bottom lip with worry. In that moment, he wants her so much that it feels like there is a coil ready to spring in his chest if simply given the chance. Owen wants Claire to wants him to wreck her, to make her forget with his body until all that is left is the two of them sweaty and wrapped up in each other with their hearts beating in sync.

But she's staring intently at the television screen when Owen digs his knuckles into the arch of her foot instead, his other hand remaining featherlight at the back of her knee when all he wants to do is go higher and feel the skin at her thighs jump before closing the circuit with his mouth.

 

-

 

On the hottest day of the year, the central air in the apartment complex decided to crap out. The management assures them that they're getting the replacement part FedExed overnight and it should be fixed by the next day, but it's of small comfort when the apartment currently feels like it's on the surface of the sun. After Claire packs it in for the night, Owen gives up the fight and stands in front of the open fridge in nothing but a pair of black boxer-briefs. He's so busy contemplating how long he can keep the door open before the milk goes bad that he is completely caught off guard when he turns around and sees her standing behind him with her hands on her hips.

"Couldn't sleep either?" he asks.

"Too hot," Claire says. She looks flushed.

"You want a beer?" Owen asks, grabbing another cold bottle from the fridge and handing it to her.

Claire follows him back to the living room, his sheets abandoned in a crumpled heap on one side of the couch, his pillow on the other. There's a scoreless baseball game on television – bottom of the ninth, two out, bases loaded – and the announcers are saying that it's time to put up or shut up. Owen understands the feeling as he watches Claire stand there with her eyes closed and the cool bottle pressed against her neck. When she opens her eyes, Owen is still looking at her like he has never seen her before, his t-shirt held absently in his hand and the beer forgotten on a coaster on her coffee table.

"What?" she asks.

" _Fuck_ ," Owen curses and then he's on her in two strides, one hand on her hip and the other cupped against her cheek as he kisses her like they're back on that goddamn island. She is momentarily caught off guard before pressing back against him and gripping the short hairs at the back of his head.

They need to slow down and talk, but everything is fluid and moving all at once as his tongue darts past her teeth and Claire wraps her endless legs around his waist. Owen walks until her back is burning against the cool wall. His entire body feels like it is on fire and the hot kisses she's pressing against his neck do nothing to temper the flames.

Owen's right hand goes from her hip to under the waistband of her obscenely short shorts, his fingers trailing along them until he slips his hand against her. She's impossibly wet and he hasn't even done much more than kiss her, which causes him to let out an almost primal grunt that makes her laugh. Owen eases one finger in and then a second but Claire still doesn't seem satisfied, her previously impressive vocabulary now reduced to _more_ and _faster_. Owen quickly adds a third digit while his thumb moves in circles against her clit until she's biting his shoulder and coming apart hot and sticky in his hands.

" _Fuck_ ," she repeats from earlier in disbelief once she comes down from her high, releasing the vice grip around his hips as her slightly wobbly feet hit the hardwood floor. "I need a shower."

Owen nods mutely, backing away from her like she's a time bomb. He knows that he should say something about how he feels and what just happened but to be honest he's not even sure he knows what happened other than how he finger banged his kind-of-roommate and now they're probably going to avoid talking about it for the rest of time and he's going to have to move to a different planet and learn how to garden.

"You need a shower too," Claire calls out behind her as she walks toward the bathroom. Owen can be slow sometimes but he is definitely not obtuse enough to miss an invitation when he hears one, nearly tripping over himself as he scrambles to catch up with her.

 

-

 

The next morning, he wakes up to find Claire sprawled out like a starfish in bed, half draped over him with her face buried against his shoulder. Her breath tickles his neck, but Owen can feel her stir when he lifts himself up and cranes his neck to glance at her alarm clock reading five.

"Morning," he greets, voice thick with sleep but also somehow still way too chipper for this early on a Monday. Owen hopes that Claire doesn't hear how much of an idiot he sounds like right now as she burrows her head into the crook of his neck and kisses his collarbone.

"Hi." The lines of her body press against his as she stretches like a cat before blanketing his body with her own. "You snore by the way."

"I do not!" he insists, frowning at her.

She nods. "You do. Small musical huffs like Puff the Magic Dragon. It's cute."

There's a clunk in the vents and then a hum as the air conditioning clicks back on. He feels the slightest gust of cool air hit them as Claire wraps her arms tighter around him.

"Okay, I have to go," Owen says with a quick kiss on the top of her forehead before trying to disentangle himself from her.

"Love 'em and leave 'em, huh?" Her tone is light but her lips press into a tense smile.

"What? No. I mean, I really _have to go_ ," Owen says quickly, "but way to make a guy feel like a piece of meat! I feel objectified!"

Claire's face splits into a grin so majestic that he wants to take a picture and frame it. "You know you love it, Grady."

"You better not be checking out my ass," Owen exclaims as he pads his way to the bathroom in his boxers. Claire tosses a pillow at his backside and then responds with a low whistle when he turns around to glare.

 

-

 

The next few days progress like nothing different has happened. He goes to work. She goes to work. They offer unsolicited opinions on the culinary abilities of the _Chopped_ contestants even though she managed to burn water that one time the coffeemaker was on the fritz and his idea of gourmet cooking at home is grilled cheese sandwiches with two different types of Kraft cheese. The only indication that anything has changed between them is that now that he's seen her naked, Owen doesn't pass up the opportunity to bring up her the tiny star tattoo she has low on her left hip every chance he gets.

"What's it mean?" he asks, pressing her into the couch cushions so he can kiss her hip as Claire tries to read damage reports over his head.

"That I got very drunk in high school while out on a date with a guy who wanted to be the next Chris Cornell."

Owen scrunches up his nose.

"You need to come up with a better story," he suggests. "Like you were briefly an astronaut and the whole crew got matching ink before their mission to Mars."

"I'll take that under advisement," Claire says, rolling her eyes as Owen's focus shifts to working on inching her yoga pants down little by little. She swats his head with the stack of papers in her right hand before reminding him that she brought work home with her tonight because she needs to get it done.

"I'm just working on giving you that out of the world experience," Owen murmurs. "You know, to really sell the story."

Claire makes fake gagging sounds. "Think really highly of yourself, don't you?"

Two minutes later, she loses her place in the legal jargon and gives up reading altogether.

 

-

 

The problem with Owen is that he can't seem to leave well enough alone. That's why he quit the SEALs to move to Costa Rica and train velociraptors that could shred him with their teeth if they didn't feel like listening to a man holding a clicker. It's why he jumped into the cage of a hybrid predator and brought a motorcycle to a dinosaur fight. On paper, Owen is pretty much an oblivious tool so it's almost no surprise that he can't stop thinking about what Lowery said about Claire being a lone wolf as the weekend draws closer.

Owen cuts his Friday meeting with Alan short, leaving the older man to check out the images of some "very fascinating" new fossils discovered off the coast of British Columbia. Owen knows he should go home and devise a plan of attack, but sometime between thinking that and getting into his car, he drives to Masrani HQ instead, rides up to the twenty-second floor, and ignores Claire's new assistant's protests as he all but barrels into her office.

"It's fine," he assures the PA, clicking the door closed behind him. When he turns around, Claire raises an eyebrow so he just presses ahead with, "I need to know where we stand."

Claire swallows hard, clearing her throat before turning back to her monitor with a tight smile and saying, "Your concerns are valid, Dr. Malcolm, and I assure you that we are not taking them lightly. I'll have my assistant contact yours to set up a meeting for next week to discuss this further."

 _Of course_ she was in the middle of a video call and that's why her PA Andie looked like she was about to have a seizure the moment he approached her desk in gym shorts and a _Price Is Right_ t-shirt. Owen suddenly feels like this wasn't the best idea in the world and maybe he still has time to slip out of here and go stick his head in an oven.

"Owen." He's really impressed that her eyes haven't bugged out yet. This shows character growth.

"Sorry," he apologizes sheepishly. "I, uh, probably should've called first."

"Perhaps."

"I'll see you at home, yeah? Hey, I'll pick up tacos," Owen rambles because he's a buffoon. "Don't worry, I'll remember the extra salsa this time."

He might actually be running towards the door. It's so pathetic.

"Stand with what?" Claire asks, her voice softer than it was a moment ago when she was in business mode. Owen knows that he can play this one of two ways: run away like he hasn't heard her even though they're the only two people in her massive office, which is a very tempting option right now but might cause her to associate him with a deaf great uncle down the line; or Owen can sack up and ask what he came here to ask and deal with the answer like a man. He straightens his back and turns around, his heart racing the way it used to when he would go into the raptor cage right before he had to remind himself to breathe.

"Stand with us." It's good; his voice doesn't falter at all. "We faced down Godzilla together. We live together. We're sleeping together. I let you talk me into watching _Sleepless in Seattle_ last week and your sister invited me to your nephew's bar mitzvah yesterday because she was worried that you'd forget to pass on the message."

"What's your point, Owen?" she sighs, rubbing at her temples like he's asking her to solve a particularly challenging algebra equation.

"My point is...how are you going to introduce me to people at Gray's thing?"

"I didn't think that far ahead yet."

"Is this just a post-traumatic adjustment reaction or something? Are we dating? Is this a relationship or are we...complicated friends?"

"I don't like labels," Claire says, which makes him guffaw. If there is one thing Claire Dearing likes to do, it's label and categorize and place things into neat boxes that have been indexed and re-indexed in her mind until everything has its place. "Shut up. Why is this on your mind now?"

"I want to be prepared in case you try to convince me to date the barista again." Owen doesn't tell her that he would maybe totally die if she did. There's no need to get melodramatic right now when he has already bumrushed her office like a crazy person.

"You weren't making a move."

"On her?"

"On _me_ ," Claire says with exasperation. "Jesus, it was like watching someone try to melt a glacier with an Easy Bake oven. I didn't think you were interested."

In retrospect, he might have played it a little _too_ close to the vest. "So you thought I should date someone else?"

"I was being magnanimous," she insists. "I wanted you to be happy."

"Okay."

"Okay what?"

"Okay, mission accomplished," Owen says. "I'm happy so, you know, you can stop making it weird at Starbucks."

"Fine," she replies with a nod.

"I'm going to go now," Owen says, pointing towards the door. "I'll see you back at the apartment. Oh, and I'll tell Andie that she's not fired."

Claire waits until his hand is on the door knob before she calls out, "By the way, yes."

"Yes what?"

Claire sighs, rolling her eyes like it should be so obvious what she's talking about now and not at all like they just had four conversations within the span of five minutes. "Yes, we're dating, I guess. You're my boyfriend _or whatever. __"_

Owen beams at her. "Ah, clarity! Was that so hard?"

"Are you going to start passing me notes in class now?" Claire asks with a grin. "'Do you want to go to the movies with me? Check yes or no.'"

"Don't pretend like you don't _love_ those check boxes."


End file.
